Antebellum
by ASongInMyHead
Summary: If she's a whirlwind, then he's a hurricane. Collision could only mean disaster. Modern AU.
1. Part One

It's three o'clock in the morning when the buzzing of the cell phone on his bedside table pulls him from sleep.

"Hm?" He grunts as he smashes the phone against his ear, more asleep than awake. He does not bother to check the caller ID.

"Enjolras?" He recognizes her voice immediately. It's a little raspy and always makes his heartbeat increase "Can I sleep at yours?"

Enjolras rolls out of bed and clumsily pulls on his clothes with one hand. "Of course," he tells her quickly. "I'll set up the futon."

* * *

Most people would presumably be surprised, worried or annoyed to receive a call like that at such an hour. Enjolras was different. His friends were of an interesting breed. They were comfortable around each other in a way that many groups cannot relate to. And Enjolras' apartment was a particularly notable place to crash. While it was by no means spacious, it was still bigger than what anyone else had. He had grown accustomed to coming home to find Courfeyrac using his Wi-Fi, Jehan watching a documentary, or anyone else who had to time spare. Once, Grantaire had occupied the living from for two weeks, simply because he had not felt like leaving.

Éponine was an unusual sort all together. Although her family had not been legally homeless for going on four years, she still preferred sleeping on her friend's couches, rather than the hole-in-the-wall her parents called an apartment.

Enjolras pulls pillows and neatly folded blankets from the hallway cupboard and flicks on lamps. Just as he finishes putting the bedding on the futon, he hears the click of his sticky lock and the creak of the opening door.

"That was fast," he walks into the room as Éponine closes the door.

She smiles wanly at him, shrugging of her worn coat and pulling off her sneakers. Her hair is unwashed and tangled; her face is pale and drawn. Her eyes are glassy and she reeks of alcohol. "I was in the neighbourhood."

Enjolras feels a rush of surprise and confusion. "In the neighbourhood? Do you mean with—"

She shoots him an exhausted glare and he closes his mouth quickly.

"Thanks for lettin' me stay," she says, her face softening. She walks towards the futon and collapses on top of the blankets.

"Anytime," he replies, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "My home is yours."

He waits for a response but realizes that she is already asleep.

* * *

Enjolras wakes up half an hour before his alarm is set to go off. The sun has only just risen, sending pale autumn light through the gap in the curtains. He staggers from the bed and into the hall. A quick peek into the next room proves that Éponine is still sleeping, her mouth half open and her brow furrowed. Enjolras leaves her to sleep and heads to the shower.

By the time he returns, she is awake, leaning out of the window that looks out onto the streets of Paris. Her clothes are rumpled from sleep and she takes slow drags from a cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the open window.

"I made coffee," she tells him without turning around. "It's still in the pot, it's prob'ly still hot."

"I'm okay for now," he lies. They both know that his veins would rather be filled with caffeine than blood. But she shrugs and fruitlessly blows smoke out the window, as the wind blows it right back. She flicks the butt from the windowsill and they both watch as the wind carries it from sight.

"What happened last night?" He asks her after a moment.

"Nothin'," Éponine says with a shrug. "I was around, a little drunk and didn't feel like goin' all the way home."

"You were 'around'. You mean you were with—"

"It don't matter," she breezes past him, towards the door. "Thanks for lettin' me stay, but I gotta get to work. I'll see you at the Musain tonight, yeah?"

Enjolras tries to put his hand on her shoulder— a friendly gesture, although he is not at all satisfied with her answer— but accidently pulls on the sleeve of her zip up hoodie. The grey fabric slides down, revealing her tank top strap and an angry purple bruise that resides on her shoulder and collarbone.

"Don't," she whispers, suddenly looking years younger.

Enjolras pictures a man. He pictures a face that he has not seen in a year and a half. A face that he and his friends swore they would ruin should they ever see it again.

"Montparnasse," he breathes and watches as her face goes white. "'Ponine, did you back to him?"

She frowns and looks away as he lets go of her sweater. "I did."

Enjolras is livid. Not at her, never at her, but at that fucking sleaze. He remembers a call from a panicked Marius. He can still picture her bloody nose and broken rib. He recalls how long it took for the black eye to fade.

"He hurt you again," he says softly, more to himself than to Éponine. "I'm going to call the police."

"No."

"Then I'll sort him out myself."

"_No!_"

Enjolras moves towards the door, but she shields the exit with her body.

"Montparnasse hurt you again. I fucking knew it. Why won't you let me do something about it?"

Éponine blinks back tears of frustration and looks up at him. "You don't understand. 'Sides, it ain't your fight, it's mine. I can take care of myself."

Enjolras sighs and his face softens. "I know you can. So why won't you ask for help when you need it?"

She meets his eyes and although her eyelids are smudged with day-old cheap mascara, her eyes burn bright with coherence. "'Cause I_ don't_ need it." She pulls on her shoes, picks her coat and shuts the door behind her.

Enjolras waits until he hears her shoes clunking down the stairs before pouring a cup of coffee. His anger has turned into sadness for Éponine. He takes his steaming mug to his bedroom and composes a text for ten people.

_E: Something has happened. I need assistance. _

He very nearly hits send before he realizes what he's about to do. As much as he'd like to rally his troops, as much as Éponine needs help, it is not his place to betray her secret.

He throws his phone onto the bed and drains his coffee in one sip, his mind whirling with all sorts of ideas and emotions.

* * *

Author's Note~ Thank you for reading! I am looking forward to writing more of this story. For the record, I am using the continuity of both the brick and the play. I'm trying to make Éponine's _argot_ sound English (as I am not French) and modern. I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter!


	2. Part Two

Éponine crashes out of the apartment in a flurry of wind-blown hair and an open coat. Ignoring the wind that whips bitterly at her face, she digs through her pockets until she finds her green lighter and a crumpled box of cigarettes. It takes her three tries but she manages to light one with shaking hands. She inhales the smoke deeply and then releases it, her breath coming out in a sigh. When her heartbeat is less frantic, and her body is no longer trembling, she makes her way toward the main street.

She and Enjolras have been friends for nearly seven years. Marius introduced her to his group of university friends back when she was still following him around like a lost puppy. She had become attached to the boys very quickly, and joined their student group although she did not attend school. She'd been there for him when Bossuet nearly got them arrested for breaking and entering the restaurant he was fired from. When Marius began skipping meetings to see Cosette. When Enjolras broke up with Grantaire. And now he had treated her horribly when _she _was vulnerable made her flush with anger.

How _dare _he? She does not deny that her relationship with Montparnasse is problematic and has caused trouble, but it was not Enjolras' place to assume things or to act in her name.

She reaches the street and is about to cross to the bus stop when the honk of a horn causes her to halt.

Montparnasse pulls his piece of scrap metal he likes to call an automobile up next to her. He rolls down the window and sticks his head out.

"I knew I'd find you," he tells Éponine cheerfully, and she subconsciously touches the bruise on her collarbone. "Going home? Get in, I'll drive you."

_"You filthy whore."_

Éponine moves like a robot, her mind blank as she tosses her cigarette onto the pavement and climbs into the shitty car. Montparnasse takes off before she's able to do up her seatbelt, so she just leaves it be.

"Where'd you disappear to last night, 'Ponine?" He asks her when they stop at a red light.

She is frozen in her seat, staring directly out of the windshield. She realizes that she's shaking again, this time out of fear.

_"Worthless bitch."_

"I couldn't sleep so I went over to Enjolras' place," she tells him dully.

"Hm," Montparnasse drums his fingers on the steering wheel as the light turns green. "Did you fuck him?"

"Let me out," she spits angrily, no longer afraid.

"C'mon, I was only joking," he laughs at her and his beautiful face lights up. Éponine responds with a silent glare.

She pulls out her cell phone— a hand-me-down from Marius— to check the time. 7: 49 AM. "Shit. 'Parnasse, I gotta go clean up before work, I gotta go home _now_. "

"Actually, I called you in sick," her boyfriend tells her. "You'll be working today, but not at the supermarket."

It's then that Éponine truly does feel ill. She recalls Enjolras' offer to take on Montparnasse and briefly regrets her declination.

"What's he got us doin' today?"

"Letters. To banks. Charities. He told me to tell you that he wants them to be messy and have shitty spelling, it makes us look dumb, and if there's anything rich people love, it's stupid poor people."

Éponine lets her head fall back to the seat's headrest. "That's the sixth time he's called in sick for me. He's gonna get me fired."

"I thought you liked working for your dad."

"When I was a kid it was like a game. Now it sucks."

Montparnasse shrugs and pulls the car into the empty laneway beside Éponine's apartment. He jumps out of the car and holds open her door like a true gentleman.

_"Stupid, fucking cunt."_

She swallows, brushes past him and opens the door.


	3. Part Three

Grantaire's bachelor apartment is unsurprisingly unlocked upon Enjolras' arrival. He pushes the creaking door open and is immediately blasted with the stench of booze and sweat.

"Jesus," Enjolras breathes as he steps into the room. Grantaire is splayed out on the bed, nursing a Red Bull and watching _The Return of the King. _His eyes are bloodshot and his face is unshaven.

"Aha!" The hung-over man calls when he sees Enjolras. "I was just contemplating the idea of pancakes. Will you make them for me?"

"No," Enjolras tells his ex-boyfriend firmly. Despite the finality of his response, his lips curve up with the hints of a smile. "It's past breakfast time, anyway, it's nearly supper."

"Well, there goes my weekend off to a terrible start, then," Grantaire groans, shutting the movie off and rolling out of bed.

"You're not the only one," Enjolras mutters, but the other man does not hear him. He gestures around the apartment. "What happened to _you, _last night?"

"I was bored," Grantaire shrugs and smirks. "Lonely even. There aren't many boys knocking down my door these days, and my right hand isn't nearly as exciting."

"Well, maybe if you took the occasional shower that would change."

Enjolras had been with Grantaire for quite a while; the two had even lived together briefly. But Enjolras eventually became fed up with constantly having to be the alcoholic's nurse, and so broke it off. The two, however, picked up their strange and vitriolic friendship almost immediately.

"Not something you need to worry about, eh?" Grantaire says slyly, draining his energy drink.

Enjolras narrows his eyes and sits down on a chair that is littered with laundry. "I don't know what you mean."

The dark haired man tosses the can towards the garbage bin, missing by about a foot. "You're not very subtle, E, the way you've been ogling our 'Ponine for the past month."

"I don't know what you mean," Enjolras replies coldly. His feelings were certainly not Grantaire's business.

"What ever you say," he stumbles towards the kitchenette, rubbing at his blurry eyes.

"Besides," Enjolras follows as Grantaire fetches a glass of water. "She's back with Montparnasse."

"And that's her choice, Apollo," he says gravely, knocking back the water like a shot. He sets it into the sink, which is already overflowing with food-encrusted dishes and empty bottles.

"What do you mean?"

Grantaire smiles surprisingly softly. "Éponine is known for her… self destructive habits. That's why she and I are such easy friends; we can relate. You couldn't fix me, and you can't fix her. We all love her, she knows that, but at the end of the day, her choices are her own."

Enjolras sighs and digs the edges of nails into his palm. As much as he'd rather not admit it, Grantaire is right. He _had _been seeing Éponine in a different light of late. He liked the way she bit her lip. He liked that she could have intellectual debates even though she'd dropped out of school before her sixteenth birthday. He liked her body. It was not something he fancied discussing with his ex-boyfriend. But he literally could not fathom how such a bright and strong woman could run back to that psychopath time and time again.

Grantaire's phone begins to chime horribly, pulling Enjolras from his reverie.

"Speak of the Devil, and she shall appear," Grantaire muses, scrolling through his text messages.

"Éponine?"

"Oh yeah. She was doing work for the lovely Papa Thénardier. She finished and wants to know if I want to go the Musain early. Everyone else is already on their way."

"What did you say?" Enjolras asks with a frown, feeling rather pissed off but not surprised that he had been left out of the message.

"Yes, of course," Grantaire turns on the tap and splashes water on his face. "Are you coming?"

Enjolras is reminded of the bruises on Éponine's bony shoulder, and of the hurt in her large eyes. "She's not going to want to see me."

"Why do you think that?" The dark haired man asks dryly, smoothing out the rumpled clothing he no doubt slept in.

"Because I told her I didn't approve," at least he was telling half the truth.

"It's 'Ponine," Grantaire clumsily shoves his keys into his pocket and pulls Enjolras out the door before he can respond. "She'll get over it."

"I can't believe it works," Éponine is saying their friends when Enjolras and Grantaire arrive at the dusty old bar. "He's made me, Azelma and Gavroche write them since we first learned to spell. He sends the letters, askin' for money for clothes and food, and then puts the money into his pockets."

Enjolras slides into a chair between Jehan and Bahorel while Grantaire orders a drink. He nods silently to his friends, not interrupting the story. Éponine shoots him a brief and unreadable glance, before turning back to her audience. He notices that her hair is clean and her face looks refreshed. She's drinking from a bottle of water, rather than a beer like the rest of them.

"How hasn't he been arrested for, like, fraud?" Musichetta leans forward, either not noticing or not caring as Joly and Bossuet take rather obvious peeks down her shirt

"He has been, loads of times," Éponine says with a humourlessly laugh. "But never charged."

"You look awful," Combeferre suddenly notices Enjolras' presence and gestures with his beer bottle.

Joly leans away. "Are you catching the flu?"

"I had a late night, that's all," Enjolras says, looking everywhere but at Éponine. He watches as Cosette whispers something in Marius' ear, who flushes and looks down with a smile. He wonders what such simple happiness is like.

"You should go to bed earlier," Éponine snaps as soon as she catches his eye.

"Thanks for the advice," he can't help but bite back. He stares at her until she looks down. "I'll work on it."

There's an uncomfortable silence until Courfeyrac launches into an animated story about a successful feline surgery at the vet clinic he works at. The group drinks and chats amicably, until another chair is dragged up to their table, just behind Enjolras.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Enjolras turns around to see Montparnasse grinning like a cat who knows he has successfully trapped a mouse.


	4. Part Four

Enjolras, Grantaire and Jehan rise from their seats in tandem. The squeal of the chairs briefly attract the attention of some other patrons, who quickly look away, fearful of being involved in a skirmish. The rest of their group looks on nervously. Éponine rises from her chair slowly, unfurling like an anxious cat, her dark eyes darting back and forth.

"Montparnasse, " Enjolras growls the name like a curse, his face dark with anger. "We told you what would happen if you came around here again."

"Relax," the tall, pale boy slides gracefully into a seat beside Cosette, who glares and leans away. Éponine smiles reassuringly at her friends and they return to their seats. "I've come to have a beer with my girlfriend and her friends. There's nothing wrong with that, right, 'Ponine?"

Éponine curls her fingernails into her palms and grits her teeth. She looks down, says nothing and hates herself a little bit.

Bahorel clears his throat and Musichetta presses her painted lips together; their discomfort is reflected around the faces at the silent table.

_This is my fault, _Éponine thinks. _Montparnasse is a snake and I still go back to him._

Her hand creeps up to her shoulder and feels the tender bruise that lies beneath her thin t-shirt. She recalls her morning argument with Enjolras.

_But you did this, 'Parnasse. I didn't deserve that, no matter what you say._

Éponine looks over at Enjolras who is staring at her, waiting for direction. She shakes her head slightly and his eyes narrow.

Éponine looks up at Montparnasse as he orders his drink. She smiles sweetly and gently tells him to fuck off.

Montparnasse's jaunty grin slides off of his face. "What did you say?" His voice is low and gentle, which Éponine knows from experience means he is at his most dangerous.

"I told you to get the fuck out. Leave me alone, I'm tryin' to have a nice time and you're screwin' that up."

She looks around at her friends who no longer look uncomfortable, but proud. Éponine feels warm and strong. She feels large fingers curl around her own, and she nods gratefully at Grantaire.

Montparnasse has donned his winning smile once more. "Éponine, are you sure you want to have this conversation here? Let's go back to my place."

"I don't want to," she replies quietly. "And we ain't havin' a conversation, we're through."

Before she finishes her sentence, Montparnasse swoops down and grabs her wrists tightly. Sharp pain shoots up her arms and she screams from the shock. "We're done when I say we are."

There are shouts and Courfeyrac and Bossuet lunge forward, knocking over bottles as they pull the struggling Montparnasse off from Éponine. Enjolras pushes past Joly and kneels at Éponine's side.

"Are you hurt?" He asks with wild eyes.

"No," breathes heavily. She stares into his eyes and he gently pulls her into his arms. She relaxes into his arms, feeling the hammering of her heartbeat against his.

Her momentary calm is ruined when Montparnasse shoves his way through and punches Enjolras square in the jaw. The golden-haired boy's lip splits and blood runs down his chin. He rises and shoves Montparnasse to the floor.

"Get out," Enjolras uses the voice he usually saves for telling Marius or Grantaire to shut up. "Get out now, and I won't call the caps. Go the home, you motherfucking waste of flesh."

Montparnasse flees, but the group is kicked out too, as the bartender screams threats about calling the police. The group throws money down on the table and leaves.

When they are outside, Joly immediately begins to fuss over Éponine's wrists and Enjolras' mouth, pulling bandages from his ever- present emergency kit.

"I'm fine," Éponine shoos him towards Enjolras, who is still bleeding. She is immediately set upon by Cosette and Musichetta who kiss her cheeks and murmur comforting words.

"That was very brave," Marius says softly, putting an arm around Cosette.

Éponine shrugs, but smiles. She feels very light, as if she could be dreaming. Happiness was often found only in her dreams.

"I say we pick up the party at Enjolras' place," Combeferre pipes up. "We _are _loitering, and I think we could all use another drink."

The group shouts merry consent, even as Enjolras protests that his apartment is not a public space to be claimed.

Éponine falls back with Enjolras as they begin the short journey.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"As I recall _he _hit _me._"

She rubs her sore wrists and glances at the bit of blood seeping through his bandage. "He works for my dad, so he sometimes has knives or guns on him."

"Then I guess I lucked out today," he looks over at her with a smile that must cause his lip pain. "It was worth it. You did it."

"I guess I did," she bites the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. "Hey?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"I'd do anything for you, Éponine."

She realizes then that he means it.


	5. Part Five

As with most of their casual meet ups, the _amis _puts the party into full swing once Cosette turns the music up and Grantaire pulls the booze out. Enjolras watches with a smile as his ex-boyfriend pulls Éponine into a bear hug and hands her a bottle of white wine that he seems to have pulled out of nowhere. It's not too surprising, as Enjolras often finds alcohol hidden around his apartment, as if Grantaire is a little squirrel getting ready for winter hibernation. She accepts the bottle gratefully, untwists the cap and takes a swig from the bottle like Grantaire on his bad days. Grantaire laughs and runs into the middle of his dancing friends and Éponine takes another gulp.

Enjolras shakes his head and walks into his kitchenette, placing chipped glasses onto a tray. When he returns, Combeferre wordlessly swipes the tray and places it on the coffee table with the bottles of booze. The group has assembled into a circle and is deciding if they should play spin the bottle or truth or dare. Éponine sits apart, leaning against the couch and cradling her wine bottle like an infant. She catches Enjolras' eye and stands up, taking two glasses from the table and returning to the kitchenette. He follows, leaving the party to their games.

Éponine is already seated and pouring the wine when he enters. Enjolras slides into one of his creaky chairs and picks up one of the glasses.

"To fresh starts," he says softly.

Éponine clinks her glass to his and drinks it all down, refilling it before he has the chance to take his first sip.

"Can I smoke in here?" She asks hoarsely.

"I'd prefer that you didn't."

She lights a cigarette anyway, and teasingly blows her smoke towards him. Enjolras can't help but smile and passes her a plate to use as an ashtray. He watches her alternate between her cigarette and wine, and before he knows it, his glass is as empty as hers. He refills them both.

They sit in silence for a while, drinking and listening to the sounds of tipsy laughter from the adjacent room. Éponine finishes her cigarette and lights another. She offers him one, although she knows he doesn't smoke.

"No thanks," Enjolras declines it. She hands it over anyway, so he takes it and her lighter. He puts cigarette in his mouth and sets the tip aflame like he's seen her and Grantaire do so many times before. He's smoked exactly two cigarettes in his life, both when he was in high school, yet he is still unprepared for the acrid burn. He coughs out a cloud of smoke and Éponine grins sharply. His second try is more successful.

"How are you doing?" He finally asks her.

Éponine shrugs non-committedly.

"C'mon, you broke up with Montparnasse, that's a huge deal."

The dark haired girl leaned forward to top up the glasses. "I guess. I'm more worried about what my father will say."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, 'Parnasse and I both work for him, when I'm not working at the grocer's," Éponine flicks the end of her cigarette onto the plate. "Forgin' letters, doin' drug runs and all that shit. Montparnasse is good at what he does, so papa likes to keep him happy, if only so he'll stay."

"Hey," Enjolras puts his unfinished cigarette on the plate. "We'll deal with that when it comes. You did something great today, don't think about it yet."

She lights a third cigarette and Enjolras decides not to say anything about it. She breathes the smoke out and watches it drift lazily up to the ceiling. "It's like I'm standin' at the wrong side of a canyon," her words are slurring the slightest bit. "I can see the other side, but if I tried to jump it, I'd miss and fall."

Enjolras stares at her intently as she downs more wine. "What if we jumped it together?"

"You only like me 'cause I'm broken," she smirks over her glass.

"That's not true."

"It is, though. You like fixin' things. That's why you broke up with R, 'cause you realized you couldn't fix him."

As if cued, Grantaire's drunken laughter floats in from the living room. Enjolras swirls the wine in his glass.

"You're not broken," he says firmly.

"I am."

"No," Enjolras frowns. "You're imperfect."

"Well, thanks."

"It's not criticism. We all have our flaws. Grantaire drinks his pain. You think you deserve the shit in your life," he finishes his wine and reaches for the bottle, only to find it empty.

"And you, m'sieur?" The glint in Éponine's eyes is half teasing and half serious. "What's your flaw?"

"My flaw?" Enjolras meets her eyes and surprises them both with a wolfish grin. "My flaw is that I am in love with you."


	6. Part Six

Éponine laughs rather hysterically. She glances over at Enjolras whose face is like stone. He holds her gaze and her laughter dies.

"You're serious?" Éponine asks incredulously, suddenly feels very sober. "Holy shit, you are. This ain't pity, you actually mean it. You _love _me."

He stares back at her, his face like marble; his eyes entirely unreadable. "Yes," he says simply.

"I don't know what I should say," she tells him candidly. She wants to laugh again, but that would be cruel. She wants to cry, but she'd be embarrassed to shed the tears.

Who did he think he was, to love her? They were friends, and very close at that, but she would have never guessed that his feelings went further than her own. It surprised her, as she should be an expert on unrequited love, having mooned over Marius during the duration of her high school career. Enjolras rarely went on dates, but when he did they were spent with polished and mild women and men, often with political ambitions. And Grantaire.

So when she leans across the table and kisses him, she shocks them both. His lips are warm, and she slides her tongue across his teeth.

Enjolras pulls away quickly, nearly knocking over his empty glass in his haste.

"What are you doing?" He hisses, looking nervously towards the next room where their friends are still playing rowdy drinking games.

"Hmm, I think some might call this 'kissing'?" Éponine rolls her eyes.

"Well, stop."

She cups his face with her hands and he pushes his chair away from her.

"But you _love _me," she drew out her words with a grin. "Don't you want to kiss me?"

"Not like this," Enjolras stands up and Éponine's smile slips away. "You're drunk and you're hurting, you'd have anyone right now."

"You've had more to drink than me, pretty boy. And I don't want anyone, I want you," she stands to face him.

"I'm not Montparnasse," he says softly, taking a step towards her.

"That's one of your best qualities."

This time when she kisses him, he kisses back.

The living room is on the left side of the kitchen, so their friends take no notice as they stagger to Enjolras' bedroom, their lips meeting with every step they take.

They strip off their clothes with great haste and stumble to the bed. Enjolras grabs a package of condoms from a drawer in his desk, and tears it open. Éponine cackles as he struggles to put it on and does it for him.

They are tipsy, emotional and frantic, so they finish quickly. They fall back onto the blankets, sweaty and satiated.

"That was nice," Éponine rolls over and trails a lazy finger down Enjolras' chest. "But I don't love you yet."

"Okay."

"Still, can we see where this goes?"

"That's all I ask," he replies sincerely.

They lie with tangled limbs for a few moments, listening to the muffled sounds of their friend's laughter from the other side of the apartment. Suddenly Éponine sits up.

"I have a serious question for you," she knows that her face no doubt reads the opposite.

Enjolras narrows his eyes. "What is it?"

"Who is the better lay? Me or Grantaire?"

Enjolras muffles Éponine's laughter with his lips.

When they return to the party, Jehan is the only one who notices that Éponine is wearing one of Enjolras' shirts.


	7. Part Seven

Éponine wakes up to a pounding headache and disgusting morning breath. The events from the night before chaotically fill her tired mind. Montparnasse had hit her again, she had fought with Enjolras, broke it off with 'Parnasse, the party, she got wasted, she had sex with Enjolras and stumbled home.

_Shit. _

She grabs her cell phone to check the time. It's almost noon. Thank god she works the evening shift at the grocery shop on Sundays.

Scrolling through her contacts, she finds Cosette's number and fires off a text.

**_Éponine: hey r u free 2day?_**

Her phone begins to buzz almost immediately.

**_Cosette: I'm in your kitchen, ya sleepy kitten! :)_**

"What?" Éponine murmurs blearily. She untangles herself from the blankets and stumbles out of bed. She glares at the mirror above her desk and a girl with smeared eyeliner and lipstick stares moodily back. There's a red pimple growing above her left eyebrow. She's still wearing Enjolras' shirt. Holy shit, she needs a shower and quite possibly a different life. She sighs and runs a hand through her greasy hair.

The basement apartment that she resides in was a 'gift' from her father the year before. She pays half the rent, and helps him with forgeries, drug deals, and other less than legal jobs when he calls upon her in return. Still, it's better than living at home, and it means that Azelma and Gavroche have a place to crash when they need to get away.

Éponine creeps into the kitchenette and finds Cosette and Musichetta drinking coffee at her table. She remembers very vaguely stumbling along side them at some point in the night, but had forgotten that they crashed in her bed.

"How long have you guys been up?" She croaks, setting her phone on the counter and pouring a cup of black coffee. "Really, I'm surprised you came home with me and not your boys."

"Not long," Musichetta stretches her arms around her head. "And you looked like you needed the company, babe."

Cosette kisses Éponine's cheek sweetly as she takes a seat between them, leaving an imprint of last night's pink lipstick on her face. "I'm so proud of you for how you handled Montparnasse."

Éponine shrugs. "It's temporary. We both work for my dad, so he'll be back."

"Well, let's live in the moment," Musichetta tells her. "And you were wonderful."

Éponine smirks. "I had fun last night."

"Oh, me too," Cosette laughs. "Did you see Courf's face when Combeferre landed on Jehan in spin the bottle? He looked so jealous, even when we reminded him that it was just a dumb game."

"That poor, sweet boy."

"I didn't see any of the games, really," Éponine broke in, suddenly dying to share. "I spent most of the night drinkin' wine and fuckin' Enjolras into the chair in his bedroom."

Musichetta chokes on her coffee, dribbling it down the front of her wrinkled dress. Cosette squeals and immediately winces at the loud sound of her own voice. Éponine basks in their shock.

"Oh my god," Cosette whispers instead, placing a hand of Éponine's knee. "I thought he was gay."

"I don't think Enjolras is the type to care about gender," Musichetta muses, brushing tangles of petal-pink hair curls from her face.

"Was he any good?" Cosette asks mischievously.

"Yes, yes he was," Éponine replies tactfully, fiddling with the ring in her nose. She's deliberately not telling them about his confession. "It was fun."

"Is that gonna be a thing?" Musichetta leans forward. "Got yourself a fuck buddy 'Ponine?"

"Dunno," Éponine shrugs and takes a sip from her steaming mug. "We didn't talk about it."

"I think that would be nice for you both, though," a giggle bubbles from Cosette's lips. "Enjolras could have a… release, we all know he needs that, and you could have somebody who isn't an asshole."

Éponine nudges her friend fondly on the shoulder. She sighs as the coffee warms her belly and softens the edge of her headache. "It might be a bit more complicated than that."

Musichetta and Cosette exchange uncertain glances, but are gracious enough to leave it alone. Musichetta lights two crumpled cigarettes, takes a drag on one and passes the other to Éponine. She offers one to Cosette, who declines it, as they both knew she would.

"More coffee?" Éponine asks, blowing smoke towards the ceiling. The other girls nod sleepily, and Éponine collects the mugs and brings them to the counter. She's just pouring milk and sugar for 'Chetta and cream for Cosette when her cell phone begins to buzz violently.

**_Grantaire: i always told u he was a fucking fantastic screw. _**

Éponine tries and fails to contain her laughter. She passes the phone to the girl's at the table. Cosette nearly knocks over the rusted toaster as she tears up with mirth.

Musichetta smiles and crushes her unfinished cigarette into the ashtray, retrieving her mug from Éponine. "Darlings, I think I'm going for a nap. I'd like to sleep until I no longer feel like vomiting. Care to join me?"

Éponine and Cosette grumble in agreement. Éponine tosses her cigarette into the tray and follows the other two to the futon, so very pleased to have her wonderful friends with her.


	8. Part Eight

"Who are you texting?" Enjolras grumbles, as he swallows a second Advil. He's only been awake for ten minutes, and Grantaire has been tapping away at his cell phone the whole time. Actually, it was the sound of his ex-boyfriend crashing around the living room that had woken Enjolras from his hangover-induced sleep in. He couldn't recall giving Grantaire permission to sleep on his couch after the party. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd expressively told him _not _to.

"A friend," Grantaire replies, far more awake than Enjolras, as he was used to mornings after a night of too many drinks. "You don't know her."

Enjolras downs his water and sits in the chair next to Grantaire, trying to keep his back straight and the headache willed away. Yet he can't help but wince at the messy state of his apartment. "You don't have any friends outside of our peer group."

"I would be wounded if that weren't true," Grantaire finally looks up from his phone. "Shall we make it a game?"

"No."

"I'll give you three hints," Grantaire grins lazily. "One: she's female. Two: she can tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. Three: you learned _all_about what she can do with her tongue last night."

Enjolras recalled his embarrassing confession and the sex that had some what made up for it. "She told you?"

"No, you did last night," Grantaire's phone begins to release a merry tune, and he turns on the screen and chuckles at whatever Éponine sent. "I've always told you, you talk too much at the best of times, but even more when you're drunk."

Enjolras squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his temples. He tries to recall his late night conversations, but cannot remember anything more than tired words and blurred faces. "Is there anything else I should know that you know?"

Grantaire looks up from his phone and frowns. "Um, no."

Alright. Well, at least he hadn't confessed his love for someone else to his ex. Éponine and Grantaire have always been close, but having them compare their nights with him was really strange.

"If it's any consolation," Grantaire continues. "'Ponine agrees that you're great in bed and you _do _have a delightful tongue."

"This is so fucking weird," Enjolras leans his head on the side of the chair, instantly regretting it as the room begins to spin.

"Are you going to sleep with her again?"

"I don't know, it's complicated," Enjolras says truthfully. He wants advice on how to deal with the problem he had caused, but feels like Grantaire would not be the best advisor. "She might not want to, I mean, she didn't stay the night."

Grantaire shakes his head and pockets his phone. "You're making this harder than it needs to be. Call her and ask her to go out for a drink. Or back here for a drink. Or to fuck. Whatever she wants."

Enjolras ignores most of Grantaire's words, but nods anyway. "Perhaps I'll call her later."

Grantaire stands and clasps Enjolras' shoulders. "Progress can be so sweet. Do we have anything left over from last night? I could go for a beer."

"It isn't even noon," Enjolras tries to keep his voice light, but his tone is threaded with annoyance and worry.

"It's never too early to start," the dark haired man strolls towards the kitchen.

"Go home, Grantaire, I'll see you soon."

Grantaire pauses. "As you wish, Apollo. You know I always listen to you. So listen to me for once."

He departs without another word, leaving Enjolras alone in a messy apartment, chewing on his cuticles and frowning like the whole world causes him frustration.

And so it does.


	9. Part Nine

Éponine hums softly as she ties the apron string around her waist. She enjoys her shifts at the grocery store. It is easy, it is monotone and allows her to float around inside her head. While she has to deal with the occasional creep or asshole, most of the customers are pleasant people running their daily errands.

Her shift goes smoothly, although she is still distracted by the strange events of the previous night. Enjolras provided surprisingly good company in bed, but his confession terrified her. Her mother had told her how much she loved her through out her childhood, but that had stopped long before her tenth birthday. Montparnasse had told her he loved her, and while she doesn't doubt it to be true, their definitions of love differed greatly. Love never lived up to her expectations.

"Um, hello?" A voice lifted Éponine from her reverie. It's nearly closing time, so it surprises her that someone would enter the shop so late in the evening. A teenage girl stands on the other side of the cash register. A girl with tan skin and bleached hair. A girl with familiar pink lipstick. A girl who happens to be her sister.

"Hey, sorry, 'Zelma," Éponine says, shaking her head. She looks at Azelma's lips, and frowns. "Is that my fuckin' lipstick?"

"I don't know what you mean," Azelma pulls her earphones out and shoves her mp3 player into the pocket of her jeans.

"The day after you slept at mine last week, I noticed that my pink lipstick was missing," Éponine narrows her eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Ergo, j'accuse!"

Azelma grins and raises her hands in the air. "You've got me. But you ain't gettin' it back, it's not your colour anyway."

Éponine rolls her eyes and Azelma leans on the conveyer belt. It takes all of Éponine's will power to not turn the belt on and cause her sister to fall. Besides, there are more important matters to deal with. She can tell by the guarded look in Azelma's eyes that this is not a social visit.

"You never answer your texts," Éponine chides. "How's 'Roche?"

"Who knows," Azelma responds absently, reaching past Éponine and tossing a pack of gum on the conveyer belt. "He's never home for more than a few hours if he can help it."

Éponine nods. Azelma has a strange code that she doesn't seem to realize she puts to use. Éponine knows how much her sister cares for their brother. If something were to be wrong with Gavroche, Azelma would act on it, or at least tell her.

Azelma fishes a few euros from her purse and hands them to Éponine in exchange for the gum. Éponine glances towards the back of the shop, where her two coworkers closing with her are taking inventory of the stock, and then back at the gum.

"My treat," she tells her sister, who flashes her a grin as sharp as the metal triangles dangling from her ears. Her smile fades fairly fast.

"I'm here for a reason, though."

"I know."

Azelma sighs sympathetically. "Dad's pretty pissed at you."

"'Cause I dumped his favourite hunting dog?"

"Yeah, 'Parnasse is part of it," Azelma attempts to blow a bubble, but ends up dribbling pink-stained saliva down her chin. She wipes it away without embarrassment. "He wants you to work harder, too."

Éponine spreads her arms. "I have a job."

"He means for him. He thinks you want out, and doesn't like it."

Éponine shakes her head. "Tell him I'll come by tomorrow. You should go now, I've gotta close up."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," Azelma shrugs. With a brief salute, she pushes the exit door open, letting the evening air rush in.

Éponine turns to leave her stand, when the phone in her pocket begins to vibrate. She flips it open and can't help but laugh when she sees the message.

_Enjolras: Evening. I hope your head feels better than mine. I was wondering if you would like to have a coffee with me tomorrow. If you are available._

Silly boy.

_Éponine: musain? noon? see ya there sunshine._

She turns off her phone without waiting for a response and begins to count her till. Since Pretty Boy made her wait, she can surely return the favour.


	10. Part Ten

Enjolras is on his second coffee in twenty minutes. He's fairly sure he can hear his heartbeat. He sits at a back table, alone, and tries to ignore Musichetta's sympathetic glances from behind the counter. Éponine surely did not stand him up. Perhaps there was a delay on the Metro. Perhaps she went to the bank. Perhaps a monster crawled out of the Seine and she was busy fighting it.

Perhaps she had stood him up.

He sighs and finishes his coffee, quickly glancing at his cell phone. Half past noon. Éponine is always a very punctual person, so her tardiness came as a surprise. He had tried texting her, but received no response.

Musichetta approaches him with a lemon square on a plate of chipped porcelain.

"On the house," she sets it down on his table with a compassionate smile. "And it's 'Ponine, she's not a bitch. There's totally a good reason for why she's late."

Enjolras thanks his friend with a nod. "This looks great 'Chetta, thanks."

"Don't thank me, I didn't make it," Musichetta pushes her bangs out of her face and saunters behind the counter. "That shit's store-bought, my dear."

Enjolras scoffs and nibbles at the pastry. It is sweeter than what he likes, but the sour aftertaste is pleasant. He has barely finished the first bite when his phone begins to buzz.

"Hullo?" He slides open the phone and runs his thin fingers through his pale hair.

"Hey," he recognizes the tinny voice immediately; Éponine. She's practically whispering into the phone."So sorry, but I'm doin' some work, and I can't make it."

Enjolras frowns. "Can I meet you where ever you are?"

"Can't we reschedule?"

"I was hoping to see you," Enjolras tells her, trying to keep his voice firm. "We, well, we ended pretty abruptly the other night."

"Like, after we fucked," she suddenly sounds very much like Éponine he knows. The turmoil of the world contained in a harsh sentence.

"Sure. That."

A loud sigh bursts from the other end. "Okay. Meet me outside my parent's place. Outside."

She rattles off an address and directions before hanging up without so much as a hasty goodbye.

The apartment where Éponine's family lives is not difficult for Enjolras to locate, as he had already been there. Marius had lived in the same building for a while, and when Enjolras had first met him years before, he had visited the decrepit little building on several occasions.

He waits on the sidewalk across from the building, firing off a quick text to Éponine to notify her of his arrival.

No response.

Not surprising.

Enjolras shakes his head. He likes her so much, but he will not allow her to lead him on, or whatever the fuck she's doing.

He crosses the street and pushes the door open. The lobby is a small room, bare but for a wooden chair and a list of the residents. There are ten apartments on the building, with 'Thénardier' listed as apartment 305.

He jogs up the stairs. When he reaches the top, he can hear voices shouting in slang that he can hardly understand. Éponine's rough voice is among them.

He creeps towards the door and pushes it open. Éponine is standing amongst shreds of paper, her hair a wild frame around her angry face. Five men are in the room, four of whom are middle aged and one who Enjolras recognizes as Montparnasse. He enters the tiny apartment, the door creaking terribly.

The six gang members turn, their faces alight with various degrees of surprise. Enjolras has never seen so many varied emotions on Éponine's face. She looks angry, terrified and relieved, her face tugging in different directions.

"Who is this?" One of the men turns to Éponine.

"A friend," she hisses back. "You don't know him and you never will."

"What's going on?" Enjolras frowns and sizes up the room's occupants.

"I know him," Montparnasse looks positively delighted. "He's the little fruit from the café—"

His words end with a groan when Éponine's boot connects with his shin. He doubles over as Éponine grabs Enjolras by the shoulder, pulling him backout the door.

"I'll explain later," she promises.

Enjolras is about to reply when he feels pain blazing down his left side. He cries out and slumps to the floor.

"What happened?" Éponine shrieks, falling with him.

Enjolras groans and reaches an arm to his side. It comes away slick with blood. A knife is embedded in his back.

Éponine lets out and inhumane shriek as Montparnasse stands above them with a smirk.

Outside, the sirens begin to blare.


	11. Part Eleven

Sofie Simplice walks purposefully down the drab corridor, flanked by two municipal police officers. She pauses in front of the interview room, and stares through the hidden window. A young woman is slumped in the chair, a cup of untouched coffee steaming on the table.

"I'd like to go in alone," she tells the officers who silently nod and step back.

—-

Enjolras eyelids begin to flicker.

"Unghhgh?" He groans, attempting to question his surroundings. Everything that he can see through squinting eyelids is too bright and fuzzy. His entire body feels heavy and sore.

He very nearly yelps when a face pops into his blurry vision.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Grantaire grins. "For someone who never sleeps past 8, sleeping for a whole four days must feel pretty fucking weird."

Sofie pushes the door open, balancing her files and paper coffee cup in the crook of her elbow.

The girl looks up but her face is unreadable. She's still wearing her own clothing, as she isn't technically an inmate. Sofie glances at the top of her file. Éponine Thénardier. Found in the dwelling of a repeat offender who happens to be her father, surrounded by forged documents and holding onto a stabbed man.

Sofie smiles as warmly as possibly. "Good afternoon, Éponine. I'm Sofie Simplice, but please just call me Sofie."

Éponine crosses her arms, apparently not comforted by the casual small talk.

Sofie nods and tries again. "I understand that you have been told that I am the lawyer that the city has picked to represent you? I want you to know that you are not currently in trouble. Having a family is not a crime. But the problem, Éponine, is that they have disappeared, and you were found with an injured man who remains unconscious. Until he wakes up, we have to hold you. And you must tell me anything that could lead to your father's whereabouts. Your freedom depends on your willingness to speak, and Monsieur Enjolras' testimony."

—-

Grantaire gets out of Enjolras' face and retreats to a chair in what appears to be a hospital room.

Enjolras raises his hands and sees several tubes inserted into his wrists. Morphine. There's an oxygen tube in his nostrils and an uncomfortable feeling that he can only assume is a tube inserted in his urethra to allow urination.

He can foggily recall looking for Éponine and then Montparnasse and the knife that had so easily slipped through his skin.

"Montparnasse," he mumbles and Grantaire's dark eyes widen. "He was the one who stabbed me."

—-

The girl leans over and slurps noisily at her coffee. When she's drunk her fill she sits back in her chair and stares at the table.

"Éponine, you are causing yourself harm by staying silent," Sofie tells her firmly. She's seen resistance, she's seen panic, she's seen tears but her current client's stoic nature concerns her. "I am on your side."

Sofie swears she sees the corners of the Thénardier girl's mouth twitch up.

—-

"Did he hurt Éponine?"

"No," Grantaire looks down, and runs an anxious hand through his unwashed hair. "But she's in jail."

"What?" Enjolras tries to sit up, but is overtaken by a wave of dizziness. He closes his eyes until the room stops spinning, and tries to form words through the haze of morphine. "Why hasn't anyone bailed her out?"

"We can't," the dark-haired man replies grimly. "She was arrested in a gang member's apartment, alone but for a guy bleeding out on the floor. Thénardier took his goons and ran. The cops know all about her father, so I don't think she's in too much shit. But she won't talk to lawyers or the cops, so they're waiting for you to wake up and be a witness."

"How do you know all that?"

Grantaire shrugs. "They said some of it when we tried to bail her out and I pieced the rest together."

—-

"You are not my only client, Éponine," Sofie says firmly, trying not to lose her patience. "I won't waste my time if I don't have to."

"Wait," the girl breaks in, startling her."I don't know where my father went, I swear. But I don't think he would have left Paris. Is Enjolras… is he gonna be okay?"

Sofie scribbles down Éponine's words into the file. "The hospital has been reporting to the police station. It would appear that his injuries are not life-threatening."

To the lawyer's surprise, Éponine throws back her head and laughs.

—-

Enjolras chews the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, before fearing he might accidentally bite it off in his drugged state.

"Tell an orderly that I'm awake," he instructs after a moment. "I want to speak the police as soon as possible."


	12. Part Twelve

From the personal journal of Sofie Simplice:

_Grégoire Enjolras has awoken and I believe that both Éponine Thénardier and I will sleep all the better for it!_

_Perhaps my entries have been sparse and despondent of late, but I am feeling very optimistic today! The past few days have been filled with nothing but success, and I have reason to believe that the positive streak will continue._

_Monsieur Enjolras gave his testimony from the hospital bed, where I was allowed to be in attendance among the police and a friend of the victim who would only identity himself as 'R'. I have a copy of the transcript, but the short summary is that he declares Éponine Thénardier to be nothing more than a witness. The detectives did nothing to hide their disappointment, of course. Oh, imagine how hard it is to think that an underprivileged woman of colour may be a victim! I spend too much time around men like them, and honestly, they disgust me. Éponine is a young woman, a person, not someone whom bets should be placed upon. Enjolras, somehow, has gotten himself an interview with Éponine. I've decided not to tell her, and leave it as a surprise, for I can tell how much she cares. Honestly, the poor girl deserves a treat._

_Obviously I'm very happy with Monsieur Enjolras' testimony, but I have several causes for concern. Célestine waits in bed for me every night, before falling asleep against her will. I can tell because she doesn't turn the light off and there's always a book dropped upon her lap. I usually leave work before her, and she sees me off with a kiss, though I fear her smile is forced. Perhaps we can go on holiday after Éponine's case is through. Célestine has spoke of a desire to visit family in Belgium, and I've never been. I'm afraid that I am losing track of the point of this entry. I will speak to Célestine about taking time off work later tonight._

_Éponine, of course, is still in prison. Though she is now free from association with her father's gang, she is withholding information and evidence. All of the attempts to get her to speak about where Monsieur Thénardier and company might be have been in vain. She speaks rarely, usually only to me. Her words reveal nothing; usually she asks if she can have a cigarette (no), how Monsieur Enjolras is fairing (well) and if the weather is nice (it's variable). The warden has described her as 'depressive, verging on manic' but no diagnosis has been requested, so I do not trust the warden's judgment._

_The second breakthrough is quite a large one. Éponine is currently forbidden from casual visitors, besides family. I read in the file that Éponine's siblings are currently staying at the residence of two of her close acquaintances, Cosette Fauchelevent and Marius Pontmercy. I called the other day and left several messages on their telephone. Failing to hear back, I went to the apartment after I left the hospital yesterday. When the door opened, I was able to meet Madame Fauchelevent, though she looked unhappy to see me, her short hair still damp from the shower. When I told her my name and my cause, she shut the door without another word._

_While Éponine's peer group has been consistently unhelpful to me, I must say that their loyalty is remarkable._

_After much persuading, Madam Fauchelevent allowed me inside. Her fiancé was not around, but both of the children (Azelma, age 16, Gavroche, age 10) were doing homework at the kitchen table. Azelma insisted on joining as I spoke to Madame Fauchelevent. Eager to see her sister, the younger Madame Thénardier persuaded Cosette to allow her to visit the penitentiary. Eventually Cosette relented, though my suggestion that Gavroche also attend was met with a firm and negative response._

_Which means that Éponine and I will be very busy today! The sun has not fully risen, but I must hop into the shower soon. Azelma's visit is at 11:30 this morning, and Enjolras' is directly after. I hope that Azelma's visit will convince Éponine to speak. I do not know what Enjolras' visit will do, but perhaps he knows something of the faded bruises that she will not talk about._

_I am anxious for the day to begin!_

_- S_

Éponine shifts uncomfortably on the couch, drawing her knees up to her chest. When she found out she would be allowed into the visiting room, she expected white walls, a metal table with two chairs and a two-way mirror. Something from a buddy-cop movie. But the room she waits in is not too bad. The walls are peeling, yes, but the furniture is arranged in a homely fashion. It is almost easy to ignore the cameras on the ceiling and the middle-aged lawyer who waits with her.

"She's gonna be late," Éponine promises Sofie. "She has an awful sense of direction."

"It's not even time yet," Sofie reminds her, jotting something down on her clipboard.

Éponine scoffs and tugs on her itchy jumpsuit. Sofie is clever and kind, if to the point, but Éponine resents the lack of privacy that she has, especially in her appointed lawyer's company.

"I won't interfere," Sofie says firmly, sensing her client's discomfort. "I'm only a chaperone, pretend I'm not here."

Azelma breezes into the room at 11:33. The security guard who escorted her in shuts the door promptly and waits outside.

"I ain't been in a jail since New Years' Eve!" The girl says brightly, throwing her arms around her sister.

For the first time since Enjolras was stabbed, Éponine cracks a genuine smile. "I missed you, 'Zelma."

"Oh, god, I missed you too. I know we sometimes go way longer without saying 'hey', but this felt more permanent."

Éponine shrugged. "It is, for now."

"Unless you tell them where Papa is."

"I just can't do that, right now."

"Right now?" Sofie interrupts. The Thénardier girls regard her for the first time since they had begun talking. Éponine shoots her a curious smile, and turns back to her sister.

"Anyway, you've you been?" Sofie leans back into her chair as Éponine continues to talk with her sister. "Gavroche bein' good to Cosette and Marius?"

"Yeah, it's fine there. Oh man, you know my friend Claire, yeah?"

"Sure."

"Well, last week it turns out she got knocked up by some guy she met at a party."

"Shit. She's, like, 15."

"Uh huh. Don't worry she got rid of it."

"That's good."

Sofie listens, disappointed by the lack of information and yet intrigued, as the girls begin to chatter away in a rapid dialect of French that she hardly understands. Éponine glows in a way that Sofie has never seen while in her sister's presence. She's happy and it's nice. But positive emotions does not help her case. Yet it pains her when the guard gives a warning knock on the door.

"Alright, ladies," she tells them, placing her clipboard on the table. "Azelma, thank you for coming, but it's time to leave."

Azelma fires her a glare but leans over the table and kisses Éponine on the cheek. "Good luck, 'Ponine."

Éponine smiles fleetingly and watches her sister leave. When the door shuts, she curls up on the overstuffed couch, looking lost and young.

"You have another visitor," her lawyer informs her.

Éponine can barely frown before the door opens again and the visitor limps into the room.

"Enjolras," Éponine breathes as he sinks into the couch beside her. In her peripheral vision she watches Sofie pull her clipboard and pen back out. With tentative fingers, she traces down the fabric of his shirt where she knows the cut lies hidden. "Are you out of the hospital?"

"No," he frowns. "It would appear that we are both being held captive. I think they should let me go soon."

Éponine can't take her eyes off of his side. "So you promise you're okay?"

"I do," he chuckles. "Woozy? Yes. Sore? Yes. Worried about you? Very."

"Well, you shouldn't be," she chastises seriously. "I'm fine."

"If everything was fine, they would have let you out. I mean, it shows how terrible our justice system is that you're locked up without charges, but perhaps you should… cooperate."

Sofie coughs awkwardly when Enjolras bashes the legal system, but he does not notice.

"There's no point," Éponine shakes her head. "People like my dad, like Montparnasse, they can keep runnin' forever. Nothin' touches them and nothin' ever will."

"It's not your job to find them," Enjolras counters, shifting closer. "And you certainly don't owe them protection. You don't owe them anything. All you need to do is tell the police where you think they might be, and then you're done. Will you think about it?"

Éponine kisses her fingertips and places them against Enjolras injured side. Sofie, who had been scribbling their conversation down, has the grace to look away. Éponine thinks back on the deeds of her parents, on how fast Gavroche had to grow up, on how Montparnasse treated her like shit, on the scar that Enjolras would have.

"Yes," she tells him softly as Sofie nearly snaps her pen in half. "I can do that."


	13. Part Thirteen

Éponine practices her freedom by draining Cosette and Marius of their hot water supply.

"Are you finished?" Cosette sticks her head into the bathroom without knocking.

Éponine peers her head out from the shower curtain with a lazily smile. "Almost," she tells her friend, flicking water at her face. The other girl yelps and shuts the creaking door. Éponine's smile fades and sighs, rinsing the last of the conditioner from her curly hair.

After all, it's hardly the time to celebrate. She's only at her friends' apartment to get ready for the meeting with Sofie and the police.

_I'm a key_, Éponine thinks as she shuts off the taps. _But I don't know which lock I am supposed to open._

She towels off and dresses hastily, finger combing her hair. She's dug up her nicest clothes, the dark green dress that she wore years before to her high school graduation, with a black shawl and tights borrowed from Cosette. Wiping steam from the mirror with her damp towel, Éponine applies her make up, taking extra care to cover the purple bruise-like circles of exhaustion that have not faded since Enjolras was stabbed.

She insists on going to the police station alone, but is not released before receiving a massive bear hug from Cosette and an awkward fist-bump from Marius. Her phone vibrates every few minutes- texts of encouragement- and she feels warmed by the love and friendship that envelops her.

In no time at all, Éponine finds herself at the steps of the police station. Sofie waits by the door, dressed sharply and wearing a stern expression on her normally gentle face.

"Don't let them bully you," she tells her client firmly, without a greeting. "Tell them what you know, and we should be out within an hour. Kick some ass."

Sofie moves to go inside, but Éponine touches her wrist lightly.

"I owe you a lot, Sofie," she says sincerely, flushing and looking away. "I've been a bitch to you and I'm sorry. You've done so much."

"Thank you," the lawyer replies with an upward quirk of her lips. "But you don't owe me anything. You don't owe anyone anything. And don't you ever forget it."

She enters the imposing building, leaving Éponine to feel like she's going to cry without really knowing why. After a moment she shakes her head and follows. The building is overly air conditioned, and Éponine shivers into her shawl as she follows the click of Sofie's heels.

The room that she is led into is barely bigger than a closet. The walls are painted beige, and a misshapen desk is in the middle, surrounded by four metal chairs. Two are occupied by middle-aged policemen, and Éponine and Sofie slide into the other two.

"Mademoiselle Thénardier, Mademoiselle Simplice," the bear of a man who addresses them has grey hair slicked back with greasy gel. "I am Inspector Javert, and my partner is Inspector Vidocq."

Vidocq, nods quickly, licking his cracked lips. "Monsieur Enjolras, the victim of the latest Thénardier case, told us yesterday that you are finally willing to give up your father's location."

"As best I can," Éponine meets the man's eyes, staring until he looks away.

"My question for you, Mademoiselle Thénardier, is why it has taken you so long to share this information despite repeated questioning, and why you are choosing to do it now." Unlike his fidgety partner, Javert sits as still as stone.

"I didn't feel safe," Éponine tells him firmly, tearing her eyes from Vidocq. "But a great friend made me realize that I am. If you want Thénardier or 'Parnasse, you'll have to trust me. My father owns a basement in Northern Ireland. I've never been but I know where it is. Sometimes Patron-Minette . I'll give you the address if you leave me alone."

Javert's stony exterior wavers momentarily as he glances toward Vidocq. "I think we can work something out."

Éponine closes her eyes and under the table Sofie gives her knee a quick squeeze.

Éponine and Sofie sit in the lobby, silently clutching paper coffee cups.

"Running is what Patron-Minette does best," Éponine sips the cooling coffee and stares at the cracked floor. "They ain't gonna be found."

Sofie sips her cheap drink and grimaces at the taste. "That isn't your problem."

Éponine chucks her cups into the garbage bin and rises to her feet. "Right. I'm gonna head home, y'know, now that I can. My dad's a criminal piece of shit, but it was the Parisian police who kidnapped me."

Sofie smiles and stands as well. "Good. You deserve some rest. You have my number, please don't be afraid to call if you ever need help. Would you like a ride home?"

"It's fine, my friends are probably outside." Éponine suddenly grins sheepishly. "Would it be unprofessional if I hugged you?"

"It absolutely would," Sofie tells her with a laugh, and pulls her into her arms.

"Thank you," Éponine repeats.

"You did all the work."

Éponine stumbles out of the police station, feeling light as a sparrow and as ungainly as a newborn foal. She expects her friends and siblings to be waiting, but she is alone. The skies opened up while she was inside and rain torrents against her. She raises an eyebrow and adopted a casual expression in case Sofie is watching from inside. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she fumbles for her phone, unable to contain a feeling of sudden and consuming loneliness.

"Think we'd leave without you?" A voice calls from the street. Éponine looks up as Enjolras sticks his head out of a parked car.

"No." She runs to the vehicle, shielding her eyes from the rain.

"Liar."

"Whose car is that?" She opens the door and hops in. The car smells like sweat and fake lemons.

"I rented it," Enjolras admits. His hands rest on the steering wheel, yet he makes no move to drive. "I was discharged from the hospital for real yesterday."

"That's good."

"Yes."

"I'm out of jail for good."

"That's even better."

They sit and stare as the rain pounds against dashboard window, neither willing to be the first to break the silence.

Finally, it is Éponine who shatters the wall of tension. "I don't love you. You've got to know that. Um, that sounded bad. I do love you, but I'm not in love you. You're one of the most wonderful people in my life. I like you. Like, more than a friend. But I can't do it… I can't love you."

To her shock, Enjolras begins to laugh. "I don't love you either."

"But you said—"

"I meant it when I said it. Or I thought I did. I have feelings for you, but just not as strong as love."

Éponine hopes that the roof is leaking, otherwise it means that the water streaking down her cheeks are her tears. Frustrated, she brushes the tears from her face.

"People aren't supposed to like it when people say they don't love 'em," she sniffs.

"Well, we were fucked from the start."

With a suddenly delighted smile, Éponine leans over and kisses him hard on the lips. He reaches a hand through the tangles of her damp hair and pulls her closer. They would have continued had it nor been for the angry honk of the car behind them.

"We're blocking the way," Enjolras whispers as Éponine buckles her seatbelt. "Everyone else is off planning a party for us and Courfeyrac is absolutely horrid at keeping secrets."

He starts the car and turns it around, giving an apologetic wave to the driver behind them. Éponine leans over and kisses the corner of his mouth.

"Wanna be not in love with me?" She asks with a coy smile.

"I would love to be not in love with you."

"Are you gonna come home with me after the party?"

"I'd love to."


	14. Epilogue

_One year later_

The airport is swarming with exhausted and impatient travellers who curse themselves for being at the airport at three in the morning. Éponine and Enjolras carry massive paper cups of cheap coffee and drag heavy travel bags behind them.

Éponine runs ahead and scans the departure screen. "4: 05 to Berlin, where are ya, 4: 05 to Berlin?"

"Did you find it?" Enjolras calls, running to catch up. His face is pale and his eyelids droop, but he smiles as he sips from his cup.

Éponine's eyes flick across the screen. "There it is. The gate's up the escalator."

She takes a few steps forward, the wheels of her red bag rolling loudly across the floor. The bottoms of her track pants tangle in the axles and she stops to tug herself free.

"You're stalling," Enjolras accuses, raising a pale eyebrow in tired amusement.

"I ain't," Éponine protests, though she does not meet his eyes. "I'm just tired and I tripped."

"Don't you want to go?"

"Obviously I do," she spits. "I can't _not _show up to work or class. And I wouldn't have even been hired if Sofie hadn't referred me to her colleague in Germany. But Berlin is far."

He sets the bag down. "It's not too far."

"But it ain't like I can't go home after work or class."

He tugs at the string of her hoodie. What a friendly gesture. "You can text or email whoever you want. Come home in December, you can see your friends and the kids. We'll even write you shitty handwritten letters."

Éponine frowns at the mention of her siblings. "I'm worried they'll be in trouble with our Dad and Patron-Minette still out there."

"They seem to be getting out quite well with their foster families though, you must admit," Enjolras protests. He tosses his cold coffee into the bin. "I promise I'll let you know if there's ever trouble."

"So, you're staying here for sure, then?" For someone with an expressive face, Éponine possess the gift of being able to mask her emotions when necessary. Enjolras scans her stoic face for a full thirty seconds before speaking.

"I am," he tells her firmly.

They had been together on and off for the year since their lives were upturned. They'd stay together for a few days or weeks and then call it of for a few weeks before finding themselves in each other's beds once again. Enjolras even got back with Grantaire for a month. The last time Éponine and Enjolras would have said they were still together was nearly two months before, an honest record for their relationship. They still see each other, of course, but their relationship was one of bittersweet comradery.

Éponine squeezes her eyes shut and wraps her arms around his neck, not caring as her coffee sloshes onto the floor. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I'll miss you too, we all will," He drinks in her tired face, and sees the excitement behind her anxiety. "I hear the booze in Germany is cheap enough to make the snobby students seem more bearable."

"And don't I know all about that," Éponine chuckles. "It's supposed to be a lovely city, too. And the _history."_

"I'm happy that you're getting out," he says soberly. "It's going to be good. You can come back with a fancy law degree one day."

"Yeah," she murmurs, searching his pale face with her eyes. "But what are you going to do?"

Barely noticeable, Enjolras brushes his fingers on his side where the long white scar lies hidden beneath the fabric of his grey t-shirt. "I don't know," he tells her honestly. "I'll… I'll move on, I guess."

She grabs him by the tips of his baby-soft fingers and places a gentle kiss on his brow. "No, silly boy. You'll _live_."

Éponine tugs her second bag from his grasp and begins to stroll towards the escalator.

"Be brilliant!" He calls after her.

She pauses, and for a moment Enjolras fears that she'll turn back. But then she strides forward, her travel bags smashing together unceremoniously. She shouts something back without turning around, but her words are swallowed up by the bustling crowds of people.

Enjolras watches her walk under she disappears into the crowd.

"_I always am!_"


End file.
